Twenty-Five
by CreedsGalBirdy
Summary: Twenty-five Christmas-themed ficlets featuring Sabretooth and his telepathic assistant, Birdy. Some fluff, some angst, some smut and A LOT of personal head cannon.
1. Mistletoe

Mistletoe

Sabretooth crashed into Birdy and pinned her to the ground, shielding her body from the barrage of bullets that zipped and shredded the bushes around them. Birdy could feel lumpy, wet snow underneath her plush winter coat but she lay still after Sabretooth growled a command to stay put. He charged over the hedge and his roar drowned out the staccato rat-a-tat of gunfire.

A blanket of quiet fell with the snow. A few more random popping bursts then a roar, then screaming, then silence. Long seconds ticked by. There was no crunch of boots in the snow but then he was there, his growl startling Birdy and she squeaked in surprise as he hovered over her, bracing himself on bloody hands and knees.

"Oh, you!" she exclaimed, smacking his chest with a gloved hand. "A little warning next time would be nice."

Sabretooth smiled down at his telepathic assistant. "Where's the fun in that?" He chuckled at her eyerolling response before craning his head up, looking directly skyward. "Well, ain't that somethin'," he said, almost casually.

"What?" Birdy asked, still trapped beneath her employer. When he flicked his chin up, Birdy followed with her eyes. "Big deal," she shrugged. "A bunch'a leaves and berries in a half dead tree."

Creed laughed and shook his head in disbelief. "Girl, you weren't never a Girl Scout, were ya?" When Birdy scrunched up her face at Creed's implied insult, he simply laughed again, shrugged a shoulder and said, "Can't say I didn't honor tradition."

"What on Earth are you-" The rest of Birdy's question was broken off by Creed's lips crashing into hers.


	2. Hot Chocolate

Hot Chocolate

The car door groaned in protest as Birdy opened it then slammed it shut, stuffing herself into the front seat of the old Buick. She shivered against the cold that had settled on her in the short distance from the little café. Her breath was mist in the cold air as she cradled the Styrofoam cup in her hands. She took a tentative sip from the cup, tipping it gently so the steaming liquid wouldn't burn her tongue as it rushed through the tiny hole in the lid. She wriggled herself into the velour seat, settling in for a long night of staking out when a clawed hand reached over and plucked her cup of liquid warmth right out of her hands.

"Hey! You said you didn't want any!" Birdy shot Creed an irritated look as he cradled her drink in between his massive meat hooks.

"I said I didn't want _one._ Doesn't mean I don't want half o'your's." Creed raised the cup and took a long pull from it. And nearly choked in the process, sputtering and coughing. "What the hell, Birdy?! I thought you was goin' ta get coffee?!"

Birdy shrugged and replied sweetly, "Changed my mind." She reached over and took her cup back, wiping chocolate spittle from the lid.

Creed harrumphed and went back to staring out the front windshield. "Could'a at least got whipped cream on it."


	3. Snow

"How much farther is it? Geez, I thought you said we didn't hafta do recon? My toes are frozen. I think there are icicles on my eyebrows. So glad I bought the thicker jacket. Ooh, it's sooo cold. I bet it's, like, below freezing. Do they use Fahrenheit here? I wish we'd get a job in Hawai'i. The beach! Oh, that'd be nice. How much farther, again?"

An annoyed growl rumbled in Sabretooth's chest at Birdy's steady stream of dialogue. They'd only been trudging up the mountainside for about fifteen minutes and she had been talking the entire time. He was beginning to wonder if it was the lack of any other mental signatures around that drove her to voice anything and everything on her mind. What little daylight they had this far north was dwindling, the darkening clouds didn't help, and Creed wanted to get to shelter before nightfall.

"And why you dragged me up here is beyond me," Birdy continued, hardly stopping to take a breath. Surprising, considering the altitude.

Victor whirled on Birdy, and with her eyes focused on stepping in his footfalls in the snow, she bumped right into his chest with an oomph. "Birdy, if you don't shut that trap o'your's, you're gonna draw attention."

She flung her arms wide. "From who? There's no one on this frozen mountain but us!"

Sabretooth gave the blonde woman a toothy grin. "Ain't just people ya wanna watch out for. Might be wolves stalkin' 'round." He lifted his eyebrows as if to give it thought. Birdy's look to him said she thought he was full of shit. Creed shrugged a shoulder and continued onward. He smiled to himself when, as if on cue, a lone wolf howled in the distance. Birdy rushed to catch up, huffing as she grabbed onto his coat sleeve.

"Wolves, Boss?" He got a thrill from hearing the fright in her voice.

"Yeah," he drawled. "Wolves. Maybe a mountain lion. Heck, some ol' bear that ain't ready for his winter sleep. They could all be roamin' around here." He paused and tilted his head, as though he was listening for something. "Even that bastard Windigo." He looked down at Birdy, her eyes wide.

She sucked in a breath and exhaled the creature's name, "Windigo?"

"Mmhmm." They stopped in front of a massive boulder, half buried in snow. Creed hauled himself up onto it and stretched as he got to his feet. The wind was picking up, it would be snowing soon.

"Umm, Boss?" Birdy extended a hand, waving it back and forth. Creed crouched down and grabbed a hold of Birdy's forearm and hefted her up, placing a hand on her waist to steady her. She whispered a "whoa" as she looked toward the small town at the base of the mountain. The lights there twinkled and reflected off of the snow-covered mountainside making the valley glow. The gentle, constant wind brought with it soft, fluffy bits of snow and Birdy giggled as flakes touched her face. There was a loud pop behind her and she flinched, turning to see what her employer was up to. She caught him grinning as he tipped a champagne bottle, foam spilling from the top.

"For a job well done," he said, answering her questioning look.

"But," Birdy paused, "we haven't finished the job. Technically, we haven't even started it." She took the plastic cup he handed her, letting the bubbles tickle her nose.

"Finished it this morning. Th'old geezer keeled right over in his tidy whities as soon as he saw me. Never even laid a finger on the poor bastard. Dropped dead of a heart attack. Course, couldn't leave 'im all clean or I wouldn't get paid. So, a little slice, a little dice. Finito." Creed took a healthy chug from his cup, downing its contents in one go.

The snow was coming down heavier now though the wind had mostly stopped. The flakes fell nearly straight down and began covering what little of the boulder that wasn't already covered.

"So, we get an extra day of fun, huh?" Birdy sipped at the bubbly, her eyebrows raised in question.

Creed smiled that smile that made Birdy feel half scared out of her mind and half silly schoolgirl. He reached over and dusted off the snow that had started to build on her shoulder. "I got somethin' in mind. Wanna melt some snow t'night."

"Yeah? How's that?"

Creed stomped his boot, the 'boulder' making a hollow sound. "Right in here, darlin'. Nothing but me an' you in an ol' lean-to."

Birdy lifted up onto her toes and ruffled the snow from Creed's hair. "Hmm…might make noise. Draw unwanted attention to ourselves."

There was that grin again. "Girlie, we're gonna make so much noise, we're gonna scare 'em all away." With that, Creed snatched Birdy, swung her up onto his shoulder and jumped down to the ground, Birdy laughing as the snow fell quicker.


	4. Candy Canes

It was a quiet December evening at the Creed mansion. Birdy was stretched out on the leather tufted sofa in Sabretooth's office. The man himself was at his desk, sifting through papers and tapping at his laptop. A fire crackled in the fireplace, the occasional snap or pop breaking the silence.

Well, that, and the completely obnoxious sucking noises coming from Birdy.

Creed shot another withering glare at his assistant, somehow hoping he could rend her silent with his non-existent telepathic abilities. How the alpha-level telepath lounging across the room from him couldn't hear him mentally screaming at her was not a complete mystery. Birdy made a habit of keeping her mental walls up to prevent "overload," as she called it.

Right now, however, Creed was beating his skull bloody against those walls, wanting nothing more than to rip the candy cane Birdy was fellating from her mouth. Reaching his considerably short limit, he slammed a fist down on the desk and hollered, "Dammit, woman! Enough with the suckin'!"

Deliberately, slowly and as exaggerated as possible, Birdy pulled the peppermint confection from her mouth, lips wrapped tight around it and noisily sucked, purposefully smacking as she pulled it free. She gave him a sidelong glance, locking eyes with him. Blue versus green. Then, just as deliberately, just as slowly and just as exaggerated as before, Birdy brought the sweet stick back to her mouth. She wrapped her lips around it and pulled it back and forth, her eyes never leaving his, challenging.

Creed leapt from his chair, vaulting over the desk in one smooth motion and crouched menacingly over Birdy, sneering in her face. She smiled and hummed around the candy cane, closing her eyes in a display of pure ecstasy. Creed's snarling had her opening her eyes again and he said, "You want somethin' sweet to suck on, darlin', I got just the thing."

Birdy withdrew the candy cane with a wet slurp then winked and put the stick back in her mouth to one side and bit down, cracking it in two. Never taking her eyes off Creed, Birdy chewed the candy. She licked her lips when she had finished, her breath minty and sweet as she whispered, "Bring it."


	5. Christmas Trees

It was the middle of the night. It was blustery. The snow was nearly coming in sideways. And Birdy was damn cold.

She pulled her scarf closer around her neck to keep the wet sting of snow from falling down into the collar of her jacket, bouncing on her toes to help stay warm. "Well, at least its red _and_ green," she said, her voice muffled behind the silk and wool scarf.

Sabretooth, standing beside the woman, titled his head to the side to examine his work with a critical eye. "Maybe it should go the other way, ya know? Like, straight up the middle." He motioned with his hands to explain.

"Mmmm, I dunno. Can't change it now, anyways. There's a hole in the middle. It wouldn't look right."

"Suppose so." Creed turned to his freezing assistant, "Ready ta get outta here?"

"I was born ready," Birdy replied, marching past the poor sod Creed had just impaled on one of 'Santa Joe's Direct from Michigan Fresh-Cut' Christmas trees.


	6. Angels

A pool of blood blossomed underneath Creed where he lay in the snow. He came to with a start and winced when he felt the cracking of bones knitting themselves back together. He made a mental note to stop jumping from airplanes as his landings weren't for shit. Looking up into the early morning sky he saw the pink-purple of dawn with the sunshine streaking yellow bands upward from the horizon. The tall pines of the forest were black against the colorful backdrop. Squinting his eyes, he focused on the branches above him.

White gossamer fluttered in the breeze, wings whipping in the air back and forth. Their blonde owner's hair a golden halo above her crystalline blue eyes, piercing with their gaze. "About fuckin' time, Boss." High up in the canopy, Birdy tugged at the straps of her parachute, tangled and caught.

Creed smiled at Birdy. "You may'a fallen from the sky, girl, but you ain't no angel."


	7. Pie

Itty, bitty crossover-ish with _Pushing Daisies._

* * *

If there was one thing Victor Creed hated killing, it was time. Which was how he and Birdy wound up sitting in some cutesy pie shop in Massachusetts two weeks before Christmas. The décor was too bright, the air was too sweet, the canned Christmas tunes were too loud and the petite waitress was too squeaky. Still, if stuffing food into her pie hole, in an honest-to-God place _called_ The Pie Hole, kept Birdy from yakkin' his ears off, well then, he'd sit a spell and sheeple watch. An obscene moan came from his tablemate and Creed shot Birdy a look.

"God, Boss. You have _got_ to try this pie! It's like," Birdy paused to lick the back of her spoon, "Christmas in food form. Just cinnamon and pepperminty and crisp winterness all warm and toasty with a touch of cool frost on top." She didn't even bother him with a look, just dove back in for more, making noises he only got from her when they were in his bedroom.

"Whatever. Just hurry up 'n finish. Somethin' about this place ain't right." Creed scanned the restaurant for whatever was raising his hackles, but couldn't find any particular thing. That was, not until he spotted a tall, brooding character in an apron pass by the kitchen window.

Birdy, too, caught sight of the man. "Well, h-e-l-l-o. Ain't he a tall drink of water? Might need a sip of that to wash down my pie."

Creed snorted at Birdy before narrowing his eyes at the man, who was now rolling out a pile of dough. Instinct had always served Victor damn well in the past and it seemed to be telling him something now. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but the something he didn't like about this cutesy little pie shop seemed to be the pie maker himself. Just as that thought came to him, the man looked up and scanned the shop before meeting eyes with Creed.

Caterpillar eyebrows shot up and the pie maker froze but just for a beat and broke eye contact. He set his rolling pin down, moved one way, then turned and went another, leaving the open kitchen and disappearing into the back.

Shrugging off the oddball's behavior, Creed turned back to see that Birdy had finished her pie and was nearly ready to lick the plate clean. He reached a hand over to stop her. "That's enough for you. Sheesh…can't take you anywhere."


	8. Tinsel

He shouldn't've allowed it. He knew that now. When he'd finally said yes it really had been against his better judgment. His instincts had howled at him not to do it. But sometimes that face of hers just got him. And the way she yipped and cheered when he acquiesced? He'd never admit it, but it did something kinda nice inside that he was sure people considered "warm and fuzzy" even though he disregarded _that_ all together. Her boobs squished against his chest when she hugged her thanks was a nice perk, too.

But now he was regretting ever uttering the word "yes." The shiny shit was everywhere!

It didn't just hang from every branch of the huge tree she'd erected in the formal parlor. It was covering the tall tree at the base of the staircase in the foyer. There was a tinsel-covered tabletop tree in the dining room they never even ate in and small potted rosemary trees in nearly every other room of the mansion. There were only two thresholds where tree nor tinsel had crossed; his office and his bedroom.

Unfortunately, that was soon to change.

Creed walked by the little tree near the top of the stairs, fresh from his shower, his hair dried by 1850 watts of hot, electric power. He didn't notice the silvery fingers reaching for him. And who could blame them, anyway? He carried more than his share of positively charged particles just begging for their negative mates.

Statically charged, Creed made his way down to his office. There he found Birdy, warming up the computer and getting ready to read through the new requests that had come in on the fax the last few days. When she looked up and practically doubled over laughing he knew. He just fucking knew.

Struggling to smother her laughter, Birdy moved around the desk to stand in front of Sabretooth. "You're looking very festive today, Boss."

An irritated growl was his reply as Birdy picked the long strands of tinsel off her employer.


	9. Ice Skating

"Hey, Birdy! Lady's choice for the next job. Hong Kong or Reykjavik?" Creed hung back at the threshold of the main living room. Birdy was crouched on the floor in front of the TV, snow on the screen and a VCR cassette tape in her hand.

"Hm? Oh, uh, Iceland. I guess." She gently shrugged. "Probably nice this time of year." To Creed, Birdy looked lost and small sitting there. He stared hard at her, trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with his usually bubbly assistant.

"It's cold as balls this time o'year. But whatever."

Birdy tossed the tape into a box that sat next to her on the floor. Getting up, she grabbed the box and hugged it to her chest. "I'll get our bags packed and work on the travel stuff," she said as she moved passed Creed.

Creed motioned to the box. "What's all that?"

Birdy was already halfway up the stairs when she answered. "Just a box of junk."

* * *

It was past midnight and Birdy was well asleep when Creed pushed the woman's VCR tape into the player. The images scrolled up and flickered as the machine tried to track and stabilize. When the tape finally caught, video of a home movie began to play. He tapped the remote to turn up the volume.

On the screen was a little girl, no older than ten. Her blonde ponytail was a straight line as she twirled on her ice skates, arms tucked close to her body, spinning fast, before she opened them wide and she swooped to the side, gliding across the ice backwards.

The elaborate routine continued on for only another minute before the girl skated towards the camera, her smile wide and bright blue eyes, Birdy's eyes, shining. Young Birdy was winded as she asked, "How was I, mom? That was almost perfect!"

Creed heard the camera's operator, Birdy's mother he assumed, answer. "You're still coming out of the spin too soon. You're supposed to be counting. And you're not tucking in enough." The little girl's smile dimmed and she held her hands together tightly. Creed could see how diminished she'd become in the face of her mother's criticisms. Her round face became a solemn mask, nodding as her mother corrected her performance.

Creed clicked the TV off and ejected the tape, dropping it into the box. He rummaged around in it, wanting to see what other secrets of Birdy's life it held. Frayed ribbons covered trophies that jutted up at odd angles. He flicked through a stack of photographs, pictures of the girl his sassy assistant had been. At the bottom of the box were the white ice skates she'd been wearing in the video, the blades dull and speckled with rust. Crammed along the side was an envelope but it didn't wear the yellowing fade of time like everything else. It was still crisp and white. Creed opened it to find a neatly hand-written letter inside.

_Bridget,_

_You may have been born of our blood and raised in our home, but you can no longer belong to this family. This so-called ability of yours separates us. You're not the child I raised. How something so wrong could have come from me I will never know. Do with your life what you will. It is no concern of ours. Ever._

When he'd finished, Creed stuffed the letter back into the envelope. He'd never really considered Birdy's life before him. He didn't need to. If she had some sob story about her folks hating her, so what? Everyone did. Especially mutants. And Birdy had been lucky enough to get the pretty end of that stick.

But still. She was his now and he'd be damned if anyone but him was gonna mess with his Birdy.

* * *

Birdy dropped the bags by the front door, ready to go when the driver came to pick them up and take them to the airport. She dug around in her over-sized purse, just checking that everything was there for the long plane ride to Iceland, when Creed called to her from the back of the house. Leaving her purse on top of the other bags, she made her way to where Sabretooth was waiting.

Outside, Birdy saw a trail of footprints in the snow leading away from the house. She followed them around until she found Creed standing at a small clearing. The snow had been pushed away, the brown grass beneath wet and matted, to make room for a box. Her box, Birdy noticed. With her things in it. She looked up at Creed for an answer but instead he just tipped a red gas can and poured gasoline all over the cardboard box of her mementos.

Birdy didn't say anything. Her breathing came hard in the cold air and she just watched as he up-ended the canister and chucked it when the last of the gasoline had dripped out. Then he turned to her and she heard the chink of metal-on-metal. Looking over to him, Birdy saw a lighter in his hand, out-stretched towards her.

"You just gotta scrape 'em off, girl. Ain't nothin' else for it."

Birdy focused on the flame from the lighter, blinking against the cold in her eyes. When she wouldn't take the lighter, Creed went on. "You can't let them tell you who to be. Or what to be. You gotta be what you're gonna be. It's the only way to make through. You trust ol' Vic on that."

She stood there for a beat, her eyes never leaving the lighter in his hand. Then she looked up at him and realized how right he was. If her mother, her family, had ever loved her then they would still love her. No matter what. She didn't know if it was the mutant thing or the killing or just that she wasn't the perfect princess they wanted her to be. But Birdy found she didn't really care. She was happy with who she was and she knew that she was the only person that mattered.

Birdy took the lighter from Creed and turned to the box on the ground. Among the ribbons and pictures and trophies, she saw the skates. Once, those were all she'd ever wanted out of life. Now they just reminded her of people she'd never please. And with that thought, Birdy dropped the lighter.


	10. Frost

Outside is a mix of blue and grey and white. A winter storm had lain a shroud of ice over their little corner of the world. The wind is fierce and blasts everything, leaving a thick layer of frost behind. Trees on the property crack and crash under the weight of the ice, the branches unable to bear it.

Inside it's warm, despite the power being out. They had kindled a fire in the fireplace for light and warmth. Actually, it was becoming a little more than warm indoors. It was starting to get hot. Stifling hot. And sticky. Sweaty and wet.

A hand slaps against the glass of the window, fair and slender, ending in perfectly painted nails. They curl against the glass, squeaking on the smooth, cool surface.

Another hand, a larger hand, comes up to cover the first. This hand is not so pretty and delicate. This one is callused and tan, the nails long and sharp. The larger hand curls around the smaller one, pulling it away from the frost-covered glass.

Those hands stay together long after the sweat has cooled and the fire has dimmed. The power is still out but the storm rages on, covering the outside world in a layer of frost.


	11. Eggnog

Birdy pillowed her head on her arms and closed her eyes. She could feel her fevered skin cooling but she knew it wouldn't be long before another wave hit. So she let herself rest before the next urge to empty her stomach came. She heard Creed come into the bathroom.

"Here," he said, holding out a glass of water. She took it and sipped, sloshing water in her mouth before spitting it into the toilet bowl. "Hope you learned yer lesson. Take it easy on that stuff next time."

Birdy flapped a hand to shush him and positioned herself over the bowl as she felt another wave of nausea coming. The water had been a bad idea. With her breath quickening, Birdy pulled her hair back off her shoulders and, with a quivering voice, replied, "I didn't know it had rum in it!"


	12. Cider

"Is it supposed ta be hot like that?"

"Mmhm. It's cider."

"Smells like apple juice."

"Trust me, it's not. Cider's different."

"Different how?"

"Well, for one, it's served warm."

"Does it taste the same?"

"As?"

"As apple juice. 'Cause that's what it smells like."

"Well, no. It tastes like cider. Because that's what it is. Cider. Not apple juice."

"Looks like apple juice, too."

_Audible sighing_

"Just 'cause you put a cinnamon stick in it don't make it nothin' different. Just hot apple juice with a cinnamon stick. Ain't no need to get all highfalutin callin' it cider."

_More sighing_


	13. Peppermint

The smell of peppermint filled the air as Creed wound his way through Birdy's bedroom and into her bathroom. She'd left the door open and the minty scent traveled with the steam from her shower. She was humming some silly Christmas tune that echoed off the tile walls and he could just barely make out her slick silhouette through the fogged glass of the shower stall. Never one to wait for an invitation, Creed quickly shucked his clothing and slipped into the shower behind Birdy.

She didn't as much as squeak in surprise when his hands rested on the curve of her hips. In fact, she never dropped a note in her humming. Creed nuzzled the side of Birdy's neck, nosing the long tendrils of her hair out of his way, dragging his tongue across her wet shoulder. She tipped her head to the side, giving him more access as she squeezed more peppermint body wash into a puff, rubbing it along her abdomen, working it into suds as the hot spray rained down on them.

Creed inhaled deep. It was all warm and wet and minty and his cock grew hard at the multiple sensations. Looming over Birdy from behind, he watched her move the puff lower over her abdomen, then down between her legs, then up a little, then down a little. Her head lolled back against him and she continued rubbing the puff against herself, her humming slowing. Creed trailed his hand along Birdy's arm, covering her hand with his and removed the sudsy puff, letting it drop to the floor with a sploosh.

He brought his hand up to his mouth and with a crack, bit off two of his claws. They'd grow back soon enough. Right now, he just wanted to feel the velvety smooth folds Birdy'd been teasing and razor sharp claws would put a stop to that in a hurry. He spit them out and they clattered to the shower floor as he returned his hand to where Birdy's had been.

Creed teased Birdy's opening with one finger, lightly dragging back and forth. She rocked her hips and Creed brought his other hand around to encircle her waist, holding her close to him. Birdy put her hands up against the white tile wall, bracing herself, as Creed rubbed a thick finger against her clit. When he added a second, Birdy moaned in pleasure.

That was all he needed. Creed pushed both fingers deep into Birdy's opening, eliciting another moan, louder this time. The way her wanton syllables bounced off the walls made Creed's cock ache. Her ass and thighs pushed back against him but he didn't stop the in-out motion of his fingers. Part of him wanted nothing more than to plunge his cock right into her, have her bent over and begging. But another part of him liked that he could get her off, have her moaning and panting and quivering, with just his fingers.

He quickened his rhythm while letting his thumb circle her clit and he felt her start to push and pull against him. From her mouth fell a steady litany of all the names she called him by, separated by swears, with each hastening huff of breath. The arm wrapped around her waist felt her body tense and she squeezed hard around his fingers, her body rocking with her orgasm, pulling hard along the fingers inside her.

Creed withdrew his fingers, letting his hand rest against Birdy's thigh, stroking lightly. She straightened up a little and let her breathing slow though Creed could still feel the frantic beating of her heart. He bent his head down to kiss her shoulder, grazing his teeth against the skin there. He inhaled deep before pulling away, the sweet mint mixing with Birdy's own musk, and exhaled saying, "You better stock up on that peppermint, girl."


	14. Gingerbread

No one could ever say that Victor Creed, aka Sabretooth, killer-for-hire, didn't like to keep it interesting. He liked those jobs that were just a little left of center. He liked the variety. Kept him on his toes. Kept him from getting bored. Taking a contract from a master pastry chef to remove the competition decidedly put Creed in the Christmas spirit, that was for sure.

The kitchen was well and truly trashed, the stainless steel dripping with a healthy spray of crimson. He hefted the chubby baker over one shoulder and carried him out to the main showcase area.

Birdy was admiring the huge gingerbread city that was set up, waiting for tomorrow's judging. She had crouched down to get a closer look at the detail of the gingerbread cathedral when the gingerbread city block exploded in a sweet and cinnamony fashion. Gingerbread chunks, hardened frosting shingles, gum drops and peppermint candies went flying as the second-best pastry chef in France, now deceased, was flung onto the elaborate gingerbread display.

Birdy straightened and shook cookie bits from her hair. She pulled a small camera from her pocket and snapped a photo; confirmation of the kill. "It's like Godzilla came through."

Creed hmphed at Birdy's joke, picked up a destroyed gingerbread wall and popped it into his mouth. He chewed for a minute before deciding he'd rather spit the cookie out. Smacking his mouth he said, "Now I see why the guy was number two."


	15. Presents

Birdy giggled to herself as she pulled another strip of tape from the dispenser. Gently, she pressed it along the seam where the gift wrap overlapped. She smoothed the paper, pleased with herself that she had finally thought of the perfect present for Mister Creed.

* * *

"Boss! Ain't'cha comin' up ta bed?" Birdy hollered down from the top of the staircase, her voice bouncing off the marble floor of the foyer below. It was chilly out in this part of the house and she wanted to get back into the bedroom where a nice, roaring fire was keeping the room warm and toasty.

A beat later, Sabretooth called up, "Yeah, yeah. I'm comin'!" Birdy hurried back into Creed's room and settled herself on the bed and waited for her boss.

* * *

When Creed finally made his way up the stairs and entered his room, he had to hold himself against the doorframe to stop from falling over with laughter.

"Aw, c'mon, Boss. Can't be that hilarious." Birdy exaggerated a pout and looked at Creed through her lashes. She sat in the middle of Creed's great big bed and was covered, neck to tushie, in holiday wrapping paper with a red velvet bow tied snug around her breasts.

"What the hell o'you got yerself inta now?"

"It's Christmas, Boss. I'm your present," Birdy replied coquettishly. "Don'tcha wanna unwrap me?"

Creed chuckled deep at Birdy, who'd begun wiggling her breasts back and forth. "What if I didn't ask Sandy Claus for no smart-mouthed blondie squaw fer Christmas?"

"Well, too bad! I lost the receipt." Birdy, resting on her knees, put her hands on her cocked out hips and squinted at her employer.

"Hmm….well," Creed rubbed his chin thoughtfully, "that could be a problem." He stalked over to the bed, pressing onto it with one knee. "Suppose," he said, pulling his shirt off, "I'll just hafta settle."

Birdy gasped mockingly. "_Settle?_ You couldn't get better than this if you tried." Creed leaned in to rub his face along the curve of Birdy's neck, trailing his hands along her bare thighs.

"If you say so, darlin'." Birdy smirked to herself, knowing he was well and truly hers now. His hands and tongue seemed to be everywhere and his stubble scratched at her.

Birdy toyed with his hair as he lost himself to touching her. "Gonna pull my ribbon, Boss?" She shimmied again, reminding him of what lay hidden beneath the paper. He gave her his patented feral grin and tore at the velvet bow with his teeth, ripping it from her body. Birdy hummed appreciatively as Creed licked and stroked what wasn't covered in wrapping paper before pushing her to her back and covering her body with his.

Creed let his hands drift up and down Birdy's well-wrapped body. Birdy, for her part, squirmed in her wrappings, the paper crinkling and starting to feel wrinkly and warm. "You gonna tear me open sometime tonight?"

That feral grin was back and he said, "Oh, baby, don't you know it," as he began slowly slicing away at his neatly wrapped present.


	16. Fireplace

They weren't lost. They just didn't know where they were. Besides, on some snow covered mountain. In the middle of the Rockies. On Christmas Eve Day. Birdy'd given up on grumbling her annoyance at, yet again, being stranded somewhere after a job that had gone haywire. She had it in her mind that, being that her boss was some former military badass, he was not supposed to have his plan's go to shit so often. But, she reasoned, he was prone to mood swings and bouts of man-bitching, too. So, she considered that she should be grateful them getting lost slash stranded slash caught by the Feds didn't happen more often.

She trudged through the snow behind him, careful to step where he had stepped. They hadn't talked for what felt like hours but they really hadn't needed to. He led and she followed. Out here, he was king and she didn't question. But there was a little voice in her head that was annoyingly reminding her that the sun would be going down eventually, and with that, the temperature. _He_ might be able to withstand freezing temps in the middle of the night and wake up feeling refreshed, but Birdy was fairly certain her pretty little hind end would be a popsicle come morning if they didn't get somewhere warm before sunset.

"Well, whattaya know." Creed's voice broke into the monotony of the crunch of snow. Birdy stopped and peered around her employer, holding on to him as she leaned, as her feet were still in his footprints. Birdy's eyes grew huge at the sight before them.

A cabin! "Hot diggity, thank ya, baby Jesus!" Birdy squealed and did a happy little dance where she stood, nearly losing her balance as Creed started forward toward the structure. She bounded up behind him as he reached the door. He stopped for a moment, Birdy felt this was for dramatic effect more than anything, before he reached for the door knob, turning it and swinging the door open wide.

The pair took in the sight before them. "You gotta be fucking kidding me," Birdy deadpanned. While the exterior of the cabin they had approached looked just fine and dandy, the opposite side of the dwelling was missing. As in, completely smashed under a gigantic tree and flattened, leaving the structure open to the elements. Creed passed through the door and looked around.

"You comin' in?" he asked.

"You mean 'out'?" Birdy replied. Deflated, she walked inside and looked around. Not much had been spared by the massive pine that had crushed the roof and rear wall of the cabin. She tipped a chair up right and sat as she watched Creed inspect the place. After his cursory glance, he walked over to one of the remaining walls, yanked a dusty curtain from its window and draped it over Birdy's shoulders.

"Hey! Ugh! This thing's probably filled with bugs!"

"Then you can keep each other warm." Creed was only half listening to Birdy as he searched the cabin for other items he could use.

Before long, he had managed to find enough dry wood to use as kindling and started a small fire in what remained of the stone fireplace. The sun began its descent and the woods around them grew darker. Birdy scooted her chair closer to the fire, pulling the curtain around her tighter. Creed sat further back on the floor, whittling on a branch with a claw, the shavings of wood scattered at his feet. Despite the fire, Birdy shivered in the cold dark.

"C'mere," he said, motioning to her without looking up from his carving. Birdy didn't need to be told twice. She settled on the floor between his legs and he wrapped his arms around her, continuing to whittle the stick.

She watched him scrape the wood away and after a minute asked, "Whatcha makin'?"

"A pointy stick." She could hear the smile in his voice and she snorted in response. She let her eyes drift to the fire, the flames orange and flickering. It was as big a fire as could be made with the amount of dry wood that Creed could find. Now that Birdy'd vacated the chair, maybe he could use that, too. Just to get them 'til morning.

"This is kinda nice. I mean, 'sides the possibility of me freezing to death before morning." Birdy shrugged. "It's nice. Ya know, for Christmas?" Creed just hummed a non-answer in response. In the quiet the fire popped and crackled. Birdy's eyes felt heavy and she decided she didn't really feel like fighting sleep. She drifted off to the sound of claw slicing wood.

* * *

In the morning, Birdy woke in the exact same spot she'd fallen asleep in; Sabretooth's arms. She took in a deep breath and exhaled, trying to wake herself up. She noticed what was left of the fire; a pile of ash and dark orange embers. "You ready ta get movin'?" Creed asked quietly. Birdy nodded and moved away, allowing them both the room to stretch.

It was only after they started their trek down the mountain that Birdy realized two things; Sabretooth had used her chair to keep the fire going and she hadn't felt him move all night.


	17. Stockings

"_Just hear those sleigh bells jingling, ring ting tingling, too. Come on, it's lovely weather for a sleigh ride together with you!"_

Birdy'd been singing the same Christmas tune all morning as she bopped around the mansion putting up Christmas decorations. She'd spent half the morning just getting the boxes out of the attic and placing them in the appropriate rooms. By mid-afternoon she'd finished the foyer and staircase, the sitting room, the dining room, the kitchen, the main living room and the obscene amount of bathrooms the mansion had. Now she was draping honest-to-God pine garland across the mantle of her employer's office fireplace. He'd lifted his ban of 'no decorations' in his office so long as Birdy never, ever, ever brought tinsel inside the house again. She was more than happy to oblige, revamping her Christmas motif.

Now, instead of garish colors, obnoxious glittered ornaments and tacky plastic decorations, the Creed Mansion had been turned into a classic Victorian-styled home for the holidays. The woodsy scent of real pine filled every room, suffused with dried citrus and berries. Hard-baked gingerbread cookies in the shapes of toys hung from the Christmas tree branches along with felt and ribbon stars. At first, Creed had thought the decorations were too old-timey, too country-chic for his liking. But then he saw the vintage charm of it, how the Christmases of his era might have been had his own life been different.

Sitting at his desk, he ignored Birdy's quiet singing as best he could as she fussed and decorated the room. She hung wooden toys and trinkets on the garland, turned a gold-painted statue of a deer this way and that, fluffed the pine. Reaching into the box next to her, Birdy pulled out a pair of red and green stockings, shaking the wrinkles out of them. As she did so, something small fell unnoticed to the floor. She hung each of the two stockings, one said _'Birdy'_ and the other said _'Boss'_, from the decorative mantle hooks that sat on top and she smoothed the stockings, letting them hang characteristically so.

Deciding that she had finally finished her decorating, Birdy turned and began closing the flaps on the box when she noticed something on the floor next to her foot. The small fold of green fabric was not immediately recognized. But once she unfolded it and let it lay in her palm, the chorus of her Christmas song fell silent.

It had been a few years since Birdy had let herself remember. She knew that Creed didn't. Not actively, anyway. Any time since then, when she had been in his head, there was one moment from their shared lives together that was conspicuously absent. And the only person other than Birdy herself that could've done away with the memory was Creed himself. Which meant that the memory wasn't gone, nor had it been forgotten. It was hidden. Pushed far enough behind the madness and rage and feral instinct that usually clouded his mind so that it wouldn't be a distraction. So that it wouldn't linger or hinder in anyway. Creed couldn't afford weakness. That might've explained why he never let Birdy see that memory in his mind. He couldn't afford her to be weak, either.

Birdy stared at the little green stocking in her hand. She traced the white stitching along the cuff. '_Baby'._ That had been the best Christmas Birdy could ever remember. It was happy and hopeful. Even Creed seemed different. Less volatile. About as mellowed out as she had ever seen him. But the New Year didn't bring the happiness she thought it would. It just brought heartache. And, somewhere in the back of her mind, she had accepted that that was the only inevitability for them.

She closed her eyes so she wouldn't have to look at it anymore. She thought she ought to through it right into the fire. Get rid of it forever so she'd never have to accidently stumble across it again. She didn't want a reminder sitting in a box in the attic. She took a breath and turned toward the fire when a hand clamped down on hers. Birdy snapped her eyes to Creed's, her brows knitted with annoyance. But in the glow from the fire and the glow from his desk lamp, Creed's face was soft and kind and he remembered, too. He held her hand for a minute, then pulled away, taking the stocking with him. Gently, as though it were some fragile antique treasure, the last of its kind, he pulled the ribbon from the stocking. Along the mantle he found the hook that held up the mid-point of the pine garland and he hung the tiny stocking there.

When Creed turned back to look at Birdy, she couldn't read his face. How easy it would be to slip into his mind but she feared what she might find there. If he didn't want her to see, to know how he really felt about the child that wasn't, he would make her pay for the intrusion. So she simply gave him a sad half smile. An acknowledgment of what they had shared. He cupped her face for just a second before going back to his desk, back to his work. And Birdy went back to packing up the boxes, with one less decoration inside.

* * *

_Fair Warning: The next 2 chapters will feature Creed/Birdy and offspring. Just FYI._


	18. Cookies

"An' raisins for eyes, an' cranberries for noses, an' pretzels for antlers."

"Looks like a tasty cookie, kiddo. When do I get to eat one?" Creed asked, peering over his daughter's head to look at the baking sheet full of cookies on the counter in front of her. The cookies were vaguely horse shaped, five-year old hands having not perfected the use of a cookie cutter. Birdy stood on the opposite side of the kitchen island, mixing dough and supervising.

"Silly daddy! These," the child said, drawing the word out, "are for Santa's reindeer and _only_ for them."

"Well, maybe them reindeer won't be pigs an' eat 'em all an' leave one fer me? Hm?" Victor teased, mussing the hair on the top of the girl's head.

"Maybe, maybe not," the little girl answered, preoccupied with perfectly placing oats around the reindeer's necks. Creed left his girls to their baking, swatting Birdy's behind, and earning himself a retaliatory swat on the arm, as he left the kitchen.

* * *

As Birdy turned in bed she noticed the light in the bathroom was on and Victor's side of the bed empty. It was nearly 3am and they'd already set out all of their daughter's gifts, ready for the unwrapping chaos that would ensue in just a matter of hours. Creed was rinsing his mouth out as Birdy came into the bathroom.

"What're you doin'?" she asked sleepily. Creed spit and turned the faucet off. He grabbed a towel and dried his face and hands. He glared at Birdy but she knew there was no malice in the look.

"You know that kid's my world, right? You know this?"

"Mmhm."

"So, I ain't sayin' this ta be mean, but if she's gonna bake, she needs ta learn how to do it right." Birdy's look was a confused frown.

He answered the look by saying, "That was the worst cookie I ever ate, Birdy. Absolute worst." He brushed by her flicking the lights off and headed for the bed.

Standing in the darkened bedroom Birdy asked, "You ate one of the reindeer's cookies?" She heard him ruffling the bedclothes as she walked back to the bed. She crawled in next to him, cuddled close and started to chuckle. Creed gave an annoyed snort. "Aw, babe. Those cookies weren't for you, ya know?"

"They're for Santa and his reindeer. I'm her Santa, so I get the cookies. Fair and simple. But I ain't gonna lie to the kid and tell her those cookies are good."

Birdy snuggled next to him and replied, "She told you they were for the reindeer. Just the reindeer. They don't have any sugar in them. They're all natural."

"Huh?" Birdy could almost hear the look on his face.

"Emmie wanted to make cookies for the reindeer because they do all the hard work of pulling Santa's sleigh. She said Santa can get cookies at someone else's house. She also said she wanted to throw the leftovers into the woods out back so all the wild reindeer could have a Christmas treat."

Victor hummed his understanding, wrapping his arm around Birdy, pulling her close. "Good ta know she didn't make shitty cookies. I don't think I'd'a been able to keep up with a lie that they were good."

"Who you foolin'? You'd'a ate those cookies with a smile on your face just so you'd never hafta tell her they were awful."

"You're probably right." Birdy nodded against his chest in answer. A minute went by in silence and Creed thought Birdy had fallen asleep but he asked, "Did she make 'em look like reindeer on purpose? Cause reindeer eatin' reindeer cookies….that's kinda twisted." Birdy's reply was a sleepy affirmative. "Damn," Creed said, a touch of pride in his voice, "that's my girl."


	19. Santa

Birdy tugged and straightened the red coat Victor had just pulled on, smoothing down the front. She topped him off with a Santa hat and handed him his bag of gifts. "Go get 'em, Santa Claus."

* * *

The family room of the Creed Mansion was warm and cozy and filled with the sounds of children playing. Creed burst into the room roaring, "Merry Christmas!"

The five boys that were scattered on the floor all cheered seeing their father standing above them, his red Santa sack bulging with presents. There was a baby girl sitting in a playpen bouncing on her bottom, laughing with a toothless smile. Birdy swooped in behind Creed and picked the baby up and sat in an armchair, balancing the little girl on her lap.

"All right, all right! You kids know the rules. We start with the itty bitty first. Who's my itty bitty?" Creed looked around, more for the amusement of his youngest sons, and spotting the baby on Birdy lap he gasped. "There she is! That's my itty bitty." He went over to where they were and from the red bag pulled out a stuffed rabbit with long, floppy ears. The baby reached with her chubby hands and he let her take it, dropping a kiss to the baby's head before he moved to the next child.

The next oldest child just happened to be two children. Twins boys, barely three years of age, sat on the floor looking up expectantly at their father, trying to smother their smiles. "Awright, Thing One and Thing Two, let's see what Santa's got for ya." And with that Creed pulled from the bag a matched set of small remote controlled cars. The boys ooh'd and aww'd over the cars as they inspected them before deciding to trade, though the cars were exactly the same.

"You're next, troublemaker." Creed looked at his five year-old black sheep. The boy quite literally was the black sheep of the family, with his brown hair and brown eyes in a sea of tow-headed siblings. But there was no mistaking that grin. That was all Creed and even Victor couldn't deny that the boy was his. From the bag he handed the boy a Nerf gun with suction cup bullets.

"Victor? Really?" Birdy complained from across the room where she was still bouncing their youngest on her lap.

"He ain't gonna ever play with it in the house. Is he?" Creed pointedly looked down at the boy who nodded solemnly.

"No, sir. Never in the house." Pleased with the boy's answer, he moved on to his next son. The ten year old looked up from the book resting in his lap. William was the quietest of the boys and Creed was never really sure what to make of that. He'd never made much of a fuss since the day he was born but he figured growing up in such a loud home that William just didn't wanna hafta shout to be heard. Victor withdrew a boxed set of books, picked out by Birdy, as she knew how the boy's tastes ran. _Frankenstein, Jekyll and Hyde, Dracula_ and a few other horror classics. Victor considered pulling William's old nightlight back into service…just in case. He patted the boy on the head, not sure if the smile he got was because the boy liked his gift or if he was just smart enough and polite enough to accept it.

"Finally!" The oldest Creed boy sat on the sofa tapping his hands on his thighs. He was bordering thirteen and had entered a highly sarcastic phase. "Drumroll for the best Christmas Eve gift," he said, drumming the sofa cushion. His father just gave him a look that said 'knock it off' as he tossed the tween his gift. The boy caught it easily and turned it over in his hands to get a look at it. "Aw, yiss! _Metal War Beasts 3_! Best. Gift. Ever."

Creed eyeballed his eldest son and namesake and pointed a finger. "If I hear 'bout them grades again…" He left the threat unvoiced knowing that his stern words would be taken to heart. The boy nodded despite the glazed look to his eyes as he read the video game packaging.

Reaching the end of his gift giving, Creed turned to the one member of his brood that had yet to receive their traditional Christmas Eve Present. Seventeen year-old Emma Victoria sat the wrong way in her father's favorite chair, her legs dangling over the arm, thumbs busily tapping out texts to friends on a cell phone. Creed cleared his voice earning him a sideways look from his daughter. "Am I interrupting?"

The girl put her phone down in her lap and folded her hands. "You never are." Though her words were benign, Creed could hear the snark. They'd had a row earlier in the week and Emma was still mad at her father though he simply carried on as though nothing were wrong.

"After a lengthy discussion, your mother and I have decided that yer only gettin' two gifts this year and-"

"What?! How's that fair?! Oh my God, you guys are so unbelievable!" Frustrated, Emma covered her head with her hands and groaned loudly and dramatically. For all his own short fuse, Victor just stood there and waited her out.

"You finished?"

Emma peaked through her hands and dropped them away. She sighed a 'yes.'

"Seein' as how yer only getting' two, you'll be getting' the matchin' half of this gift tomorrow mornin'." As he said this, he reached into the bag and pulled out a glossy, black motorcycle helmet. Emma put her hands up to take it, but didn't. She didn't touch it. Her hands hovered there, afraid this was some kind of trick her dad would totally pull on her for all her bratty ways.

She looked up at her dad, then over to her mother. "No way. Like, for real _real_?" Birdy nodded and smiled and Emma looked back up at her father.

"For real, kiddo." She smacked her hands on the sides of the helmet, taking it from him. Swinging her legs around to the front of the chair, she hopped up, holding the helmet to eye level, staring at her own reflection in the visor.

"Holy shit," she whispered.

From her brothers she heard a chorus of "Potty mouth, potty mouth!" but ignored them, wrapping her arms around her father's neck, the helmet dangling from one hand.

"Oh my God, dad. This is awesome. Are you shitting me with this? You're shitting me, right?"

Victor hugged his daughter tight and said, "Darlin', I wouldn't shit you. You're my favorite turd." He gave her another squeeze and they parted. He couldn't help but smile at her bright face. His face went serious and he tapped the helmet with a finger, "Every damn time, you hear me?"

Emma nodded. "Absolutely. Promise!" She went over to where her mother was sitting, managing to not step on any of her brothers in the process, and hugged her mother and kissed her on the cheek. Then she turned at sat with her siblings, showing off her gift as they showed off theirs.


	20. Sled

Creed ripped the hood of the little Fiat from the car and slapped it to the snow-covered ground. "Get on!" he hollered at Birdy, shoving her toward it.

"Oh, no! I am not getting on _that_!" Birdy pointed angrily at the car part, shouting right back at Sabretooth as police sirens and gun shots sounded in the distance.

Creed grabbed her by the shoulders and shoved her down. "You wanna bet!?" Birdy fell hard on her knees on the underside of the car hood, certain that engine grime was getting all over her tights and gloves. Creed pushed and pulled the hood, with Birdy sitting on it, before giving it one final hard push forward, jumping on just as it began sliding down the hill.


	21. Snowman

It was looking like Christmas in Vancouver was going to be a white one. Not that it ever mattered to Victor Creed. The date on the calendar never had mattered before and he wasn't sure it mattered now, as he stood at his office window and watched the blonde woman trudging through the snow in his back yard. She hadn't been in his employ long but she was slowly getting into the swing of how he liked things and she managed to keep the rage in his head to a sufferable quiet most days. The sex was damned good, too.

* * *

There was a lull in the snow fall and Birdy had decided to make the most of the fluffy white stuff on the ground. She'd never been in such a wintery wonderland before, preferring to keep to warmer climates for most of her adult life. But now, being this weird combination of personal assistant slash psychotherapist slash fuck buddy to the man she was hired to kill, Birdy was throwing caution to the wind and doing whatever felt right, when it felt right. She figured she might not last much longer in Creed's presence so she was gonna make the most of however many days she had left.

Dragging her foot across the ground, she tried to pull the snow into piles. When she was satisfied with the amount of the cold stuff she'd gathered, she patted it with her gloved hands, packing it into a mound. After a while of working on her mound of snow, Birdy began a second mound, smaller than the first. First by dragging snow into a pile with her foot, then patting it into a roundish shape. When she'd finished the second pile, she slowly tried to separate it from the ground and rolled it gently towards the first pile. She'd almost made it when the ball of snow she was rolling cracked and collapsed, inches from her destination.

Birdy huffed and stood, stretching her back and arms. She let herself think for a moment. Never having actually made a snowman before, she wasn't exactly sure the best way to go about it. With her hands on her hips, she stared at her piles of snow, debating if she should try again or call it a day, when her employer walked up next to her.

In Creed's hand was a snow shovel. He moved passed Birdy and began scraping the ground, pushing the snow around with much more ease than she had with just her booted foot. In a matter of minutes, he'd accumulated a huge pile of snow where her original snowman base had been. He motioned to her to come over with his head and together they patted at the snow, packing it tight.

They did this twice more, making globes of snow and, each time, Creed gently lifted the balls onto the snowman. When they had finished, working in near silence, the snowman was almost as tall as Birdy. It was white and faceless but there was something endearing about the plain snowface that stared back at them.

Birdy looked up at Creed and smiled gingerly. Her eyes were bright and her cheeks were flushed from the cold air. Creed huffed a laughed and asked, "You finished freezin' yer ass off out here?"

Birdy's smile widened. "Yeah."

"Then come inside," Creed said, grabbing Birdy by the hand and walking toward the house, "an' let's warm you up."


	22. Sleigh Bells

"I can't believe it, Boss. The whole mall to ourselves!" Birdy twirled with her arms thrown wide. "Do you know what people'd give to have this place to themselves during Christmas?"

Creed gave her a lop-sided smile. He finished rinsing the blood from his hands in one of the mall fountains, giving them a hard shake as he walks to where Birdy's standing. "Ain't nothing to it, girl. Just sneak on in and take out a few rent-a-cops." He shrugs, as if breaking and entering and murder were no effort at all.

"Never any trouble for you, is it?" she replies, bumping him with her hip.

He gives her a toothy smile. "None." Birdy smiles back and loops her arm around his.

"C'mon. I still need to find you a gift," she says, dragging him further into the mall.

"Ain't nothin' here I want an' you know it. Th' best gift are th' ones money cain't buy, anyways." Sabretooth lets the blonde woman pull him along. Murder and mayhem hadn't been on his schedule for the evening but the opportunity to tear some flesh has left him feeling a little forgiving when it comes to Birdy.

Coming to the center court, Birdy squeals at the sight in front of them. It's the Santa photo area and it's been decorated to the Nines. A white picket fence surrounds the area, with oversized gingerbread men, toy soldiers and Christmas ornaments clustered around. A blanket of fake snow creates a trail that leads to a huge, thirty-foot Christmas tree, its multi-colored lights twinkling. Letting out a little squeak at the new sight, Birdy takes off, leaving her feral employer behind, and heads for the tree. He hears her screech of delight, "Oh my God, Boss! Come look!"

Slowly, Creed makes his way down the trail and inside the massive tree. There he finds Birdy, seductively splayed in the back seat of a giant, shiny, red sleigh. She's pulling the scarf from around her neck when she purrs, "Care ta' jingle my bells, t'night?"

Creed chuckles as he begins to pull off his coat. "Depends. You been naughty or nice this year?" He steps into the sleigh, his added weight making the straps of bells hanging over the sides jingle. He stops. "Well," he moves a little, making the sleigh bounce, the bells jingling, "that's gonna be real nice."

Birdy takes off her sweater, pulling her hair free and tossing it. It lands on a toy soldier's head, covering his eyes from the scene unfolding before him. "I want you to make me jingle all the way," she sighs breathlessly as Creed covers her body with his and drags his tongue along her collarbone. He's already undoing his jeans, pushing them down as Birdy yanks his shirt over his head, flinging it to parts unknown.

Creed pulls back to unzip Birdy's boots and carelessly tosses them over his shoulder. One, then two, thump dully against the fake snow carpet of Santa's Winter Wonderland. Birdy fumbles with the button and zipper of her jeans and Creed begins tugging them, along with her undies, down over her hips. She wiggles free of them, kicking her feet out before wrapping her legs around his hips, Creed growling as they finally have skin-to-skin contact.

Inside the sleigh they're a tangle of legs and arms, lips and tongues, molding and moving together, accompanied by the constant jingle-jangle of sleigh bells. Birdy begins to grunt as Creed presses her into the seat, her brow furrowing against her own discomfort. Creed stops and props himself up on his arms, "S'matter with you?" he asks, a little breathless.

"I think," Birdy says, wiggling underneath him, "it's the blanket. It's itchy." Birdy's bare backside is on top of Santa's red and green plaid sleigh blanket. Creed sits up, bringing Birdy with him, pulling her into his lap. He pulls her shoulder aside, twisting her. Sure enough, her back is red and irritated.

"Must be the wool," he says. He looks at Birdy, flushed and panting, straddling his lap. "Why don't'cha sit in Santy's lap and tell him what a naughty girl you been this year?" Birdy smiles and dips her head, not shyly. No, she's just looking down so she can reach between them and guide him into her again. She stares Creed right in the eyes as she sinks down on his length. Neither moves as they sit and watch the other, breathing hard.

With her hands on Creed's shoulders, Birdy starts to move. Long, stroking glides up and down, back and forth. Creed exhales loud, groaning as Birdy slowly rocks above him. His head falls back and he just watches the lights twinkle through the tree branches. His hands cup her bottom, squeezing, the tips of his claws denting her flesh. Every slide up gets a reciprocal slide down and with it comes the jingle of the sleigh bells.

Birdy digs her nails into Creed's shoulders, her breath and pace quickening. Her whimpers grow louder with each rock of her hips that grind down onto Creed, her cries ratcheting higher and higher. Beneath her, Creed starts to laugh despite his pleasure and says, "Damn if you ain't gonna jingle all the way tonight, girl." She ignores him, one hand still griping his shoulder, the other cupping his head.

Birdy threads her hands into Creed's hair, curling her fingers tight in the strands as she fucks him. Creed simply enjoys the ride, watching Birdy work for her own release, his hands tight on her hips. He watches her breasts glisten with perspiration and bounce in front of him and knows exactly what will send her over the edge. Licking his lips, he captures one breast in his mouth, Birdy gasping at the contact, and he rolls his tongue around her nipple. Two seconds later, Birdy's arching against him, squeezing him as hard as she can, her nails cutting into his skin. Creed smiles against Birdy's breast, slickened by his saliva, before taking it in again as he thrusts up into her, his hands pressing her body onto his. They continue to rock against each other, without rhythm, riding their own orgasms.

Birdy collapses against Creed, the sleigh shaking with the movement, the bells jingling. He runs his hands along her sides, Birdy wriggling against him, fighting off the tickles. She hums contentedly as he scraps his teeth along her shoulder, never breaking the skin, never biting.

Later, as they hand each other their clothes - Birdy passing Creed his shirt, Creed handing Birdy her pink thong undies on the end of one finger – they dress in silence, the occasional smile the other doesn't see. Draping his arm around Birdy's shoulders, Creed steers Birdy out of Santa's Winter Wonderland and back along the empty walkways of the mall. "Well, I think that that definitely puts you on the naughty list." Creed tsks while shaking his head.

"Probably been a'while since I been on the nice list, anyways," Birdy replies, twirling her scarf in the air like a color guard.

"Ah, don't you worry 'bout it. Only list ya need ta worry about is bein' on mine." He gives Birdy a companionable squeeze of the shoulders.

Birdy smiles up at her employer. "I still haven't got your gift yet."

"Darlin', if that wasn't just the best damned present I ever got! Ain't no returns or exchanges on that one, I be damned! But I sure'n need find you somethin'."

"Aw, Boss. You don't hafta get me anything." Birdy adds with mock seriousness, "That you don't kill me for being mouthy every day is a gift unto itself." Creed's laugh echoes through the empty mall.

"I don't doubt that, Birdy-girl. But we oughta find you somethin' nice." Pointing towards the upper level, "Lookie there. A Tiffany's." Creed smiles down at Birdy. "Girl's best friend, right?"

Her smile only gets brighter. "She can have more than one. C'mon!" Birdy grabs Creed's hand and pulls him toward the motionless escalators.


	23. Carols

Birdy knew, she just _knew_, she'd have her work cut out for her tonight.

It was a rough job from the get-go. Not that Creed always got Birdy's thoughts on these things. But after years of working together, he occasionally sought her opinion on the jobs that came over the fax or that were forwarded to him from the Guild. If he'd asked her about this - which he hadn't - she'd'a told him to let it go. It wasn't gonna be worth it…in the long run.

Jobs during the winter holidays were always tricky. Stress levels were high, end of the year fiscal reports, affairs coming to light. Whatever the reason, it was a busy season for Sabretooth just as it was for retailers. So, when the request came through, specifically asking for him, he said yes without hesitating and Birdy packed their bags for Russia.

It was never something he had a set policy on. Kids. If they were in the contract, then he'd do them. If they weren't, well, sometimes he'd do them anyways. Sometimes he didn't lay a finger on the kids. Tonight was an all-or-nothing gig. Everyone in the house. So, that's what he'd done. _Everyone_ in the house.

Birdy pressed a hand over her mouth to keep the sobs from escaping. The lights from the Christmas tree in the room blurred as tears filled her eyes before racing down her cheeks. There were so many sounds in the house. Screaming. Roaring. Gun shots. Crashing. Slamming. Crying.

The first time they'd ever done a job with kids, a job together, she'd used her telepathic ability to put the kids to sleep before he got to them. Just so they wouldn't be scared. So they wouldn't feel anything. He made her pay for that later. Now Birdy just waited until it was all over.

Blood-spattered, breathing hard and with a glazed look in his eyes, Sabretooth finally emerged from the upper floor of the family's mansion. "Gotta go, Birdy," he said, his voice flat. She took his hand, the blood on it still warm, and led him out into the freezing Siberian night.

* * *

Birdy ducked just in time to avoid the lamp that smashed into the wall where her head used to be. Creed had been raging for the last hour in the large rented home they were staying in, and if he kept trashing the place, Birdy wasn't even going to argue with the leasing agent about the deposit. A dining room chair went flying and Birdy braced herself for the sound of the crash. She sighed and took a deep breath, mustering her courage. Head up she walked over to her employer, in full view and with her hands up in surrender. "Boss. You gotta calm down."

Green eyes zeroed in on Birdy and Sabretooth glared at his assistant. "You don't fuckin' tell me what to do, woman." His voice was a deep growl as he spoke sending goose bumps all over Birdy's skin.

"I know," Birdy started, "but if you don't calm down, I can't do my job." She paused for a breath and tried to still her shaking hands. "You want me to do my job, right?"

Creed blinked. His brow furrowed hard as he warred with himself. Birdy knew he was fighting to stay in control. She just hoped he was strong enough tonight - that they both were. He clamped his eyes shut tight, his teeth grinding together. "Just do it," he ground out. "Make it stop."

That was all the permission Birdy needed. She slammed her power into Creed's mind. The force sending both of their corporeal bodies dropping to the floor. A rush of light and sound blurred past Birdy before her mind slowed, drifting into a place of darkness. She exhaled in the quiet emptiness.

As she moved forward she could feel solid ground beneath her boots. Her steps were tentative. When she entered Creed's mind she never knew who or what would be there waiting for her. With the way he had been raging on the outside, she couldn't even imagine what was going on on the inside. She looked around in the dark, tense and waiting for whatever was coming for her. To her left she saw a small light and decided to follow it. She knew from previous experiences, the best way to help Mister Creed was to get moving and get to it. Dawdling wasn't going to solve anything and he'd be even more pissed if he woke and she was still in his head.

The light grew the closer she got and she could hear humming. The image in front of her shimmered around the edges but was clearing as she neared. There was a stone fireplace, bright and crackling. On the pine floor in front of it sat a little tow-headed boy. One she knew well. Birdy smiled as she walked up to him. "Hey, Victor."

Victor turned and smiled. "Hullo, Miss Birdy."

"I haven't seen you in a while," Birdy commented as she sat on the floor across from the little boy, folding her legs under her. Birdy'd seen so many incarnations of Victor Creed since she'd started entering his mind, she couldn't keep count. They all ranged in ages and it was a crap shoot as to which Victor she'd get at any given time. The only consistency about them was that they remembered Birdy, no matter when in his memory she appeared. Sometimes he was well into his life, terrorizing and raising all sorts of hell. Other times he was a scared little boy, locked in his father's basement, awaiting judgment from the Lord for the devil's blood that ran in his veins.

That first time she'd ever encountered young Victor had been the worst. Chained in a dirt-floor basement, bloody and starving. He cried in her lap for what had seemed like hours. His hands mangled from where his father had taken pliers and ripped his son's claws out. All Birdy could do was stroke his hair and soothe him with hopeful words she didn't, herself, believe in.

Tonight, it seemed to Birdy, that this was the youngest she'd ever seen him. And he was smiling. In a way she'd never seen. It was pure, innocent joy. Victor pushed a wooden toy on the floor, the wheels the toy lump-lumping over the pine boards of the floor of his cabin home. "It's Christmas, Miss Birdy. Papa made me a wagon!" He looked up at her and smiled before resuming his play, rolling the wagon back and forth in front of them.

"I see," she said. "It's a very nice looking wagon, too. I bet you must have been a very good boy to get that?"

"Mmhmm." Blonde hair fell over his forehead as he nodded, still concentrating on making the toy roll back and forth. "I helped at th' congreg-, congra-, at th' church. Papa said thems that work hardest receive their rewards from th' Lord." He smiled wide, his grin missing a tooth.

The sight of the missing tooth stabs Birdy with a rush of fear. Creed has never told Birdy of his life. He never really had to since she started walking through his memories, calming his demons. Of all of the younger incarnations of Victor she's interacted with, this one has been the youngest. And the one least like the other selves. This one looks calm and happy, no trace of fear or anger looking out through those eyes. But the absence of that tooth makes Birdy think that this is when it starts. When Creed's father begins the torment. Because once that tooth grows in and it's not what they expect to see, it'll be downhill for the boy. First it's the teeth, the fangs. Then it's the claws. Torn out, one by one, with rusty pliers and the will of God.

"But this is from Papa. My Lord's gift will be later, after I's die," Victor said, reminding Birdy where she was. She gave him a soft, sad smile and brushed his hair back from his face.

"You're a sweet boy to help your Papa. You know that, Victor?"

Victor nodded again, his head bent down in playing. "Momma says I'm her special blessin'. That her an' Papa wasn't meant fer children fer a long time then I came 'long and they was blessed by th' Lord as'n He gives me t' them." Birdy's heart clenched at the words, already knowing how the little boy's future would play out.

Wanting to distract herself from that line of thought, Birdy asks, "What'd you do to help at church?"

Smiling, Victor says, "I helped t'sing the Christmas songs."

"Oh, yeah? Which songs did you sing?"

"There was th' merry gentlemens an' hark th' angels an' come ye faithful. Thems the songs I 'membered t'sing."

"Did you sing Silent Night?"

Victor shakes his head. "Nope. Ain't heard that one b'fore." He rubs at his eyes with the back of his fists. Birdy can tell he's getting sleepy, even with her limited experience with children, which has actually only been with little Victor.

"I could sing it to you, if you'd like."

"Can I still play with my wagon while ya sing?" Victor asks, hopeful.

Birdy smiles and smooths Victor's hair. "Sure." Birdy quietly sings as Victor plays on the floor. Before long, he's stopped and simply watches Birdy though his eyelids begin drooping.

At the end of the song Victor says, "That sure is a pretty song. It's about th' baby Jesus, ain't it?"

Birdy nods, "Yeah."

Suddenly, Victor whips his head around, looking off into the darkness. "I gotta go. Momma's callin' me." He stands, his wagon clutched tight to his body with one arm. He wraps his free arm around Birdy's neck. "Mer' Christmas, Miss Birdy," he whispers to her.

Birdy blinks back tears, wrapping her arms around his small frame. It occurs to her how she'd never thought him so small before. She wants to tell him something, anything, that will make a difference in his life, that it might somehow change his future. But it would be pointless. She was never there for him then, when he needed someone. As he pulls away she cups his cheek. "You're a good boy, Victor. You remember that, okay? You didn't do anything wrong. You were good."

He nods at her words, confused but accepting. "'kay." Slowly, he turns away before breaking into a run into the darkness and memory of Creed's mind.

* * *

Birdy woke slowly, finding herself on the floor of the rental mansion where she'd been when she'd blasted Creed with her telepathy. She took a deep breath and stretched before sitting up, looking around for her boss. She noticed the smashed furniture and other causalities of Creed's outburst piled against the wall. Scanning the room, she found her employer sitting on the floor, propped up against a wall behind her. He had one leg outstretched, the other bent, foot planted on the floor, his arm resting on it and a length of wood in his hand. Lazily, he swung the wood letting it tap the toe of his boot. He wasn't looking at her. In fact, it was as if he was looking everywhere _but_ at her. Birdy turned to face him, still sitting on the floor when she heard something from outside.

The language was different but the melody was the same. There was no mistaking the song being sung by carolers out on the streets. It was the gentle Christmas tune she'd sung to little Victor while inside her boss' mind. Birdy's eyes went from the window back to Creed, assessing. The hand with the piece of wood – a leg from a dining room chair – stilled. Birdy's breath came quick and she crawled on the floor to where Creed sat. She straddled his lap and put her hands on the sides of his head. "Boss?"

Creed blinked. He turned his eyes to Birdy and spoke, his voice flat, defeated, "It ain't ever goin' away, is it, Birdy? It ain't never gonna stop."

Birdy's heart lurched. Tears welled quickly and fell when she shook her head. "No. No, it won't ever. But it's not your fault, okay? You didn't-" Birdy faltered. How could she tell him he hadn't done anything? Especially when she knew he good and goddamn well had. And moreover, that she had helped? But he didn't start it. His father had. She fell to an old stand-by, "You'll be okay, alright? It's gonna be okay. I promise."

"Yer the worst kinda liar, Birdy. Yer th' one I wanna believe." He dropped his head to her chest, wrapping his arms around her and held her. Outside, the carolers had moved on, their voices drifting away until the house was quiet again.

They stayed like that, sat on the floor, wrapped around each other for a long time. Birdy moved off from Creed's lap and stood, taking his hand in hers. He looked at their hands, then up at Birdy. "You need ta get while the gettin's good, darlin'. One o' these days it's gonna be you an' I don't know if I'll stop m'self."

Birdy tugged at Creed's hand but he didn't budge. She gave him a soft smile. "It doesn't matter, Boss. If it's gonna happen, I'd rather it be you. I haven't worked this hard to get myself killed by anyone else."

Creed huffed a laugh and dragged himself to his feet, his hand still in Birdy's. He shook his head, "Whattya say? Worst Christmas ever?"

Birdy led Creed toward the back of the house, toward the bedroom. "Let's try an' make it a little better, huh?"


	24. Chestnuts

Birdy huddled against Creed as the pair strolled along the sidewalk of vendors. Christmas festivities were in full swing in Edinburgh and having finished their latest job, Sabretooth let Birdy have her evening off. And since he wasn't in the habit of letting Birdy wander around unsupervised, he had come along. Lord only knows why she chose the brightest, noisiest, most child-filled place in all of Scotland to spend her time. She would argue it was because he took up too much room in Edinburgh's Smallest Pub. She was right, but that didn't exactly make her _right._

The blonde, bombshell next to him dug around in the small paper bag in her hand. With nimble fingers she pulled a chestnut free from its shell, popping the soft insides into her mouth and dropping the leftover shell to the ground. She tilted the bag towards Creed, "Chestnut?"

"Of the two of us, am I really the one ta' ask about puttin' nuts in my mouth?" he asked with a grin, pleased with his innuendo.

Birdy rolled her eyes. "Oh, ha, ha. You don't have to look so bored, ya know? Enjoy yourself. It's Christmas. We're 'on holiday'," she said with her faux British accent, "and we don't have any more jobs lined up until next year." She withdrew her arm from his and peeled another chestnut and munched on it.

"Ain't no more fun ta be had in the ol' 'burg. I'd rather we just went home. My chair in front of the fireplace, nice an' quiet-like."

"Like an' old fuddy-duddy."

Creed turned and wrapped his arms around Birdy, squeezing her to his chest as she squealed in protest. "I'll fuddy yer duddy," he said into her ear. Birdy squirmed as his warm breath brushed her neck. Keeping his arms around his assistant, but not letting her go, Creed pulled back and said, "Hey, I just got an' idea."

Birdy tipped her head back, her neck bending to look up at him. "What's that?"

"The ol' battleaxe ain't home."

"Huh?"

"Queenie. She ain't at her Scottish palace that's on over that way." Creed pointed somewhere towards Old Town.

"So?" Birdy didn't look terribly impressed at Creed's idea of nighttime entertainment.

"Soooo, means we can do a little B an' E at Her Majesty's B an' B." Creed released Birdy and they started walking again, nearing the end of the gardens.

Birdy hemmed and hawed, "Aw, Boss. I dunno wanna do any more murdering. It's Christmas, for Pete's sake."

Creed sighed heavily, as if what Birdy was asking meant the world of him. "Fine, fine. I'll even do ya one better; no bodily harm to anyone we come across whilst in the act."

Those must have been the magic words because Birdy stuck out her hand for him to shake. "Deal!"

Sabretooth grabbed Birdy's hand and gave it a firm shake before he draped his arm around Birdy's shoulders and steered her towards The Royal Mile. "Now, shove them nuts in yer mouth. We got a'lotta beds to unmake!"


	25. Christmas Music and Movies - Part 1

A little "It's a Wonderful Life" and a little "A Christmas Carol" with a touch of "Boots" by The Killers.

_ETA: Currently writing Part 3 and wow. Um...this is so not a Christmas-y story. Haha! Should'a wrote this for Halloween or somethin'. _

* * *

"Aw, c'mon, guys! Wipe your feet before coming inside! How many times do I hafta tell you?!" Birdy admonished her brood after seeing the dirty snow they'd tracking in through the back door. The boys whooped and hollered as they ran through the mansion, their horseplay echoing off the marble and high ceilings. Birdy grimaced at the noise, picking up scarves and gloves as the troupe barreled through.

Suddenly, Victor Creed emerged from his office and bellowed, "Dammit, y'all kids! Keep it down! Ain't a damn one'a ya's raised in a barn!" The kids all stopped, dead in their tracks and eyes wide and frozen. If their father had told them to keep it down, they knew they'd best do as told.

Creed stood there breathing hard. His temper had been getting the better of him lately, especially where the children were concerned. He was definitely becoming a proponent of the 'children should be seen and not heard' methodology of child-rearing. The boys looked properly scolded, their heads down and their mouths shut. Then the smallest Creed spoke up.

"We were just havin' fun, Daddy. We didn't mean to." Five-year old Elizabeth poked her head out from where she'd been hiding behind her brothers to look up at her father.

"'Cause ya didn't think! Ya ain't th' only one in this house, ya know!" Creed turned back into his office and slammed the door, never seeing the looks of shock on everyone's faces.

Victor Junior, the eldest boy at seventeen, furrowed his brow as he stared at the office door. He looked down and saw his sister's pinched face as she tried not to cry. Lizzy wasn't used to getting the brunt of her father's ire and was taking his outburst to heart, as would any child of her age. "C'mere, Bitty," he said, squatting down and stretching his arms to her. She fell into her big brother's embrace easily, wrapping her arms around his neck as he stood. "It's okay. He's just bein' a Grumpy Gus, okay? Not your fault. He's not mad at you."

As the shock wore off, Birdy was fuming from Creed's display and headed towards the office door. "You kids get cleaned up for dinner. I'll be there in a minute." The children turned and went to do as they were told as Birdy entered the office and slammed the door. "What the hell is the matter with you?!"

Creed growled at Birdy, glaring from where he sat from behind his huge oak desk. "Don't you start with me woman!"

"Oh, I'm gonna start! You have been rantin' and ravin' at those kids at the drop of a hat lately. You about got Lizzy in tears yellin' like that." Birdy paused, staring hard at him, waiting to see if he'd offer up an excuse. She could tell he was fuming but after twenty-five years and seven kids, Creed had learned which battles to fight. That didn't mean he always knew when to keep his mouth shut.

"You got some nerve tellin' me how t'act in my own house!" he roared.

"A house you're sharing with your family!" Birdy yelled back.

Creed stood, slamming his open palms on the desk top. "A house I'm payin' for!"

Birdy groaned loud in frustration. "They're your children! Why shouldn't you provide for them?!"

"Maybe if you didn't squeeze one out every damn year-"

"Don't even start that! You never have a problem makin' them!"

"They ain't nothin' but a noose 'round my neck!"

As heated as they'd become, both leaning in over the desk, right in each other's faces, Birdy froze and her face fell as she straightened. Her former employer turned lover turned father of her children hadn't exactly embraced the idea of children the first time she found out she was pregnant. It took some time but he eventually came around. At first, Creed was a hesitant but dedicated father. And the more kids they had, the more relaxed he became. That was no surprise to Birdy, who always thought of Creed as an overgrown kid himself. It didn't take a shrink to see that it was the lack of his own proper childhood that drove him to make sure his kids got a good one. With the girls he was the over-protective, loving and doting father. With the boys, he was their older big brother. But it worked. And they were happy. Until recently.

Creed had been increasingly irritable. He was snappish, demanding and short-tempered, more so than he'd ever been, even before the kids. Birdy hadn't been able to help; he dismissed her mentioning it at every turn. She was gentle and plaintive when she asked, "Victor, please. What's wrong?"

He cut a hand through the air. "Ain't nothin' wrong! I just realized how much o' my own life I been missin'! Wasted my last twenty years an' fer what?"

"_For what?_ You got seven reason, that's what! An' it's damn funny how the man that's nearly two-hundred years old is complaining about his wasted time. Don't talk to me about lost years when you've had your fair share of it with more than enough to spare!"

Outside the office, the kids gathered while staying a safe distance away in the event the shouting match spilled out into the hallway. Junior shook his head. "C'mon guys. Let's go eat. Let 'em hash it out without an audience."

As the children made their way to the dining room, William quietly said, "It's getting worse." Junior couldn't say anything. He just squeezed his brother's shoulder in agreement.

* * *

Birdy woke to the sound of a zipper pulling. To her left, the bed was cold and empty. She sat up, blinking in the darkness. "Victor?"

"Go back ta sleep," she heard Victor say.

"What're you doin'?" she asked as she switched on the bedside lamp. In the light she saw that Creed was fully dressed, a bulging duffle bag in his hand.

"I took a job," he said simply and started towards the bedroom door.

Birdy threw back the covers and followed him, grabbing his arm, stopping him. "A job? Whatever happened to 'never at Christmas time'? What's going on? Talk to me, please?"

Creed sighed heavily. "Ain't nothin' ta talk about."

Keeping her voice low Birdy snapped at him, "There damn well is something to talk about. Tell me!"

Tugging his arm from Birdy's gentle hold, Creed said, "I'm just done, okay? Finished with it. I'm tired o' bein' suffocated in my own house by my own kin."

Birdy's brow was knitted with worry and confusion. "I don't understand. How are we suffocating you? Where is this coming from? If you would just let me look-"

"No!" Creed barked. "You stay out. Ain't nothin' new in there. Whatever you think's new that yer gonna find, it's always been there. This just…it ain't what I want anymore." The last he said quietly, knowing how hard it would be for Birdy to hear it. She'd been good to him, damn good, for the better part of a quarter-century. Despite the length of time, it seemed like a drop in the bucket to him some days when he thought back on his long life.

Birdy didn't try to hide the hurt on her face. Tears fell as she said, "So, that's it, huh? Just gonna leave us, leave your kids 'cause you don't wanna play anymore? What're we supposed to do?" She looked like a rag doll, her arms limp at her sides, her eyes red and wet.

He didn't want to answer even though he knew she deserved one. She deserved a lot for what he was doing, for all he had ever done, but now was about him, getting out and getting away. It was a primal pull and he wasn't going to deny it any longer. The logical part of his brain was warping the animal side, telling Victor that he was never meant for this kind of life, trying to rationalize what he was doing.

He adjusted the grip on the bag in his hand and walked to the door. The knob clicked quietly as he turned it, opening the door. He stopped halfway through and turned, "Might as well keep the house. You got more've use for it than me."

"You ever coming back?" Birdy asked, her voice hopeful but resigned. Creed didn't answer. He just looked away and pulled the bedroom door closed behind him.


	26. Christmas Music and Movies - Part 2

Creed tipped back the bottle of bourbon he had in his hand and took a nice long chug. When he finally came up for air, he exhaled into the cold night air, feeling the burn of the alcohol all the way down, his breath misting. He leaned his forearms on the rusty railing of the rickety old steel bridge he had found himself on, watching the water below sweep chunks of ice out to wherever in the black night, the occasional passing car lighting up the darkness. He took another swig from his bottle, letting it warm him from the inside out.

It was Christmas Eve. The first Christmas Eve since he and Birdy started having kids that he was away from home. He couldn't help that his mind kept drifting back to the house where they all lived, wondering what they were doing now, if Birdy had even told them he had left and wasn't coming back. He had been right. That wasn't the place for him. That perfect normal life, he wasn't made for that. And he didn't want to feel the cold stab of guilt when his children learned how unperfect life could be. How vengeful and angry the world could be when it found out you were the offspring of a murderer, of a mutant, of a psychopath.

It was a thought that haunted him, had been haunting him for years, and silently taunting him from the dark depths of his mind. He hadn't needed Birdy to quite those demons for a while now. But they were coming back and their whispers frightened him; what they said about him, about Birdy, about the children.

So, he left. He was going to go as far away as he could. Let them carry on without him. They were all strong enough for that. He told himself that he was just the money. That he put the roof over their heads and the food in their mouths, but that Birdy had a handle on stuff like that so she could do it, too. Someone else could give them piggyback rides, someone else could throw them into the pool, someone else could tuck them in at night and tell them they've got the biggest, meanest daddy and that no one's ever gonna hurt them. Someone else could do all that because he'd just screw it up. In the end.

Creed screwed his eyes tight against his thoughts and opened them wide in the stinging cold wind. It was picking up a little, gusting here and there. Whitecaps in the river below. A storm was coming. It'd be a white Christmas along this neck of the Mississippi this year, that was for sure.

Another freezing gust brought the smell of a freshly light cigarette and Creed turned to see a silver-haired man walking his direction along the narrow sidewalk. He was dressed in black, a heavy wool trench coat with the collar popped, a blood red scarf tucked in tight. The fedora the stranger wore was also black, its satin hatband reflecting the dim overhead streetlamp. His pale blue eyes caught Creed's green ones and he smiled, nodding. "Nice night for it."

Creed narrowed his eyes and turned back to the water rushing below. "Nice night for _what_? It's fuckin' cold as shit." He wasn't in the mood, as if he ever was, for chit-chat with friendly types. Especially in some pisshole, ass backwards country town, in the middle of the night on Christmas Eve. On a fucking bridge.

"Oh, you know," the gentleman started, "thinking about life. Where you are, where you've been. The ups and downs." He took a drag from his cigarette, exhaling the smoke long and slow. "Regrets," he said, gently tapping his ashes.

Creed gave the man a sidelong glance then let his eyes flick back to the water. A car sped by, blasting the two men with cold air and misty drops of water. "Big deal. Ev'rbody's got regrets." He took another drink then let the bottle dangle from his fingers tips, twirling it. If this idiot wanted to off himself by jumping, Creed wished he do it already and leave him to the peace and quiet and cold that he'd come out here for.

The man nodded. "True enough. I suppose the size doesn't really matter, either. It's all relative, isn't it?" Creed just shrugged in response.

"It happens just the same, doesn't it? You're going through life, pretty as you please. You're on top of it all. Then the wrong decision, the wrong words said, and you fall. You fall so fast you don't even have time to think about how much it's going to hurt when you smack face first into the ground. Then you look up to where you once stood and wonder, how did that happen?"

"It ain't so much the fallin'," Creed said. "It's…" He shook his head, shaking away whatever thoughts were there. Why he was engaging this person in conversation was beyond him.

"It's everything that you see whizzing by as you fall, right? All those missed opportunities. All those might've beens, all those things that could've been if you'd have just….zigged instead of zagged." The man looked over at Creed, understanding written on his face. Creed looked hard at him and wondered for a moment if the man was a mutant, some kind of telepath. But no, he could smell muties and this guy…this guy was something else. Not mutant. But maybe not human, either.

Creed huffed a laugh. "Hindsight's a bitch, they say." Both men nodded sagely at the words, looking out over the dark river.

"That it is." The stranger took another drag from his cigarette as Creed pushed away from the railing and straightened.

He'd had enough. Enough of this maudlin, woe-is-me bullshit. This guy from nowhere was starting to creep him out just a little. And the combination of alcohol, the biting cold and thoughts of his kids made Victor Creed feel like vomiting. He offered his nearly empty bottle of Wild Turkey to the man who declined with a shake of his head. "I've enough vices to last me," he said, lifting the cigarette to his lips.

Victor shrugged and said, "Suit yerself," and chucked the bottle out into the river. "And just in case you were wondering," he dipped his head to the side to indicate the bridge, "that first step's a doozy."

The man smiled in a way that was slightly unnerving to Creed. "Aren't they all?"


	27. Christmas Music and Movies - Part 3

The mansion was dark as the limo pulled up along the curb. Creed stepped out and stuffed a handful of folded bills into the driver's hand. Apparently, it hadn't snowed in Vancouver since Creed had been gone. Now it was just cold and rainy. As the limo drove away, Creed walked along the wall that surrounded the mansion to the front gate. He grabbed the gate, paint and rust peeling from the iron into his hand. "Sonuva-" He shook his hand, then brushed it on his jeans to get the flakes off. When the hell did the gate get so shitty? And what the hell was he paying those maintenance people for? He'd hafta get Birdy on that.

He made his way up the stone walkway to the front door. He'd taken so many transfers, cramming himself into too many planes he'd lost track and he wasn't sure of the time. But he was fairly certain it wasn't too late, that the kids would be up. That was, of course, unless Birdy took the kids and left. He didn't think she'd do that. This was their home. There was plenty of room for such a large family and it was the only home they'd known. Birdy wouldn't take off, would she?

Served him right for being such a dick. And for being gone so long. He'd left three weeks ago. It was almost New Year's. But taking those jobs had been refreshing. He got to cut loose and he felt like the old Sabretooth, the old Victor Creed. The one that didn't answer to no one but the blood. Being the patriarch to a gaggle of loud mouthed, pointy-toothed little heathens…well, he didn't even know if that was what he wanted anymore. He missed his old life. He missed his kids. He knew he couldn't have both.

Coming up to the large, oak front door, Creed reached to turn the knob and noticed something. The door hung at an odd angle and his instincts were immediately on alert. He sniffed the air. It was cold and damp. He pushed at the cracked wood, the corner scraping along the marble floor of the foyer as he leaned in the doorway. He sniffed again. More cold, damp air. But staleness, too. His eyes scanned the darkness, looking for any signs of life. His ears heard nothing but the dripping of water from outside. Entering his home, he looked around for any indication that someone was here.

A grey shroud of dust and cobwebs lay over everything. Grime covered the crooked picture frames on the walls, obscuring the faces smiling there. The once-polished wood of the banister was cracked and rotting as Creed made his way upstairs. The decorative rug that covered the stairs, installed to soften the pounding of trampling feet, was dull and threadbare, fraying along its edges.

Creed knew this wasn't his house. His house wasn't a rotten tomb. But yet, the layout was the same. The faded color of the rug, red with green and blue paisley flowers, was the same. To the right of the staircase was the master bedroom with his giant four-poster bed. It was the same. A family photo on Birdy's dresser, the same. Creed roared in annoyance, "ENOUGH! Whoever you are, you show me somethin' real 'cause this ain't it!"

Nothing but motes of dust answered him, floating in the silver light that came in through the windows. Creed growled low and spun, tearing out of the room. He tore open the door across the hall, its hinges screaming in protest, and slamming against the wall. The room next to that was the same. And the one next to that one, and the one next to that one. All the rooms, dirty and forgotten. Abandoned. Empty.

Sabretooth roared again and raked his claws down the walls in frustration as he rushed down the stairs, leaving shredded wallpaper and plaster in his wake. As his foot left the last step, he saw something out back. A pale blue light filled the house. It shone off of everything; the dingy walls, the dirt covered floors, the dusty chandelier. Breathing heavy, he made his way to the French doors that opened into the back yard, the light nearly blinding through the frost covered glass.

Opening the doors he found the world covered in a blanket of white. Every inch of the property was hidden under a layer of snow. The tops of the perimeter wall had at least a foot of snow settled on the tops and it spilled down to the ground in sloping mounds. Creed stood there and wondered. He turned to look back behind him, the front door of the house still open. There, water dripped from the eaves onto a wet entryway. Slowly he turned back to the snow in front of him.

His boots crunched as he walked through the white stuff. He made a slow wide turn to avoid the pool, lost somewhere under the snow and its winter covering. He passed by large white mounds that, in the summer, were lounge chairs or the bar-be-que grill, outdoor speakers that looked like plastic rocks. Everything was buried in the snow. He trudged through the snow, making a path to the back of the property where the woods beyond were dark and whispered sinister words in the breeze that rattled icy branches. As he came to where the land sloped down, he saw something quite unfamiliar. In a row were equally spaced mounds of snow, their dimensions nearly the same as the others. He counted seven.

Creed crouched in front of one, the snow brushing his knees, his feet already starting to feel the icy sting seeping in. He reached out and pushed the snow aside to uncover what had been hidden. Cold, grey stone appeared as he brushed the snow away. Soon enough he saw words, etched in black on the stone and he froze at the sight.

_William Christopher Creed_

With frantic hands, he dug away the snow covering the rest of the words. He swallowed hard. A date of birth. A date of death. A date that had come and gone and was years away now. His noise of anguish was loud in the cold, quiet night. Looking left and right, he picked another mound. His breathing was hard as he fell to his knees and pulled the snow away, desperate to know what the next one said.

_Elizabeth Rose Creed_

This time, his sob was agony. Frenzied, he dug at the rest of the mounds. Snow was flying upwards and outwards as, one by one, he uncovered the seven headstones. One for each of his seven children.

The soil under his knees was cold and wet and it soaked into his jeans. The ground was soft and he dugs his claws in, pulling great swathes of black, damp earth up. He bellowed his torment and it echoed through the woods, taunting him with his loss. Kneeling, he let himself fall forward to the ground, his head pressing into the dirt. He growled to no one. "Lies. It's lies." When no one answered, he roared. "LIES! You hear me! YER LYIN'!"

"No," a voice whispered, soft and gentle like a breeze in the springtime.

Creed lifted his head from the ground and turned to the voice. There, in the snow, stood a figure in black. Tall and slender, not an inch of skin could be seen, covered as they were. The figure, a woman Creed assumed, wore a hat with a long black veil that obscured her face, the wind brushing it just so. Her hands were gloved and she held them tight in front of her, wringing them. He heard her breath hitch. He knew the sound. "Birdy?"

The woman didn't answer but he heard her sniffle again. She brought a hand up to her face, under the veil as she sobbed quietly. The black of Birdy's clothes shifted as the wind blew, tendrils of fabric reaching and slipping. But then the wind was gone and the fabric still moved. Creed watched as the black grew and morphed. Birdy stood, silently crying, as a figure emerged behind her. It swelled and swelled, like an ink stain, it spread until it was twice the size of Birdy.

Breathless, Creed watched the scene in front of him, unbelieving. The black figure took shape, roughly the contours of a man; arms, shoulders, a head, but the black still undulated, never molding true. A hand was formed and it produced something white. A handkerchief. It handed it to Birdy and she took it by a corner, unfolding it. The edges were embroidered in red, a bizarre jumble of angry lines and curves, and the red dripped down into the snow at her feet. The handkerchief disappeared under the veil.

The rippling black form exhaled and Creed could smell its hot, fetid breath as it washed over him. His primal instincts were raging now, trying to get him to run, to flee, to get away now. But he couldn't. Because of Birdy. He had to get Birdy.

"Birdy," he called to her. "Birdy!" She made no move to acknowledge him. But the creature had. It made a low, thick hissing sound and expanded its form. Where the eyes should have been, glowed red and when it cracked opened its mouth, Creed saw nothing but rotten toothy spikes. On the hands the fingers grew long slender claws made of black. Creed stared at the monster and growled, "No." Another shrieking hiss and the creature pulled a hand back.

It all moved too slowly for Creed. He sprinted up the slope toward the creature, toward Birdy. She was still and solemn, unaware of what was going on around her. His hands dugs into the snow and earth, pulling him closer to the pair as he loped on all fours. His roar was deafening to his own ears as he charged the creature. He reached one arm back, claws extended, ready to strike. And was hit with a spray of crimson, wet and warm, across his face.

Birdy's gasp was stunted as the creature's claws struck her throat. Time seemed to speed up and still Creed was too far away. He watched as Birdy's body dropped to the ground, the snow melting away as her warm blood pooled beneath her. The creature reared its head back and laughed, grinding, raw and deep. It was a deepness Creed knew. One he had known his entire life. It was a deepness that was in him. This vile creature was him. He was his own nightmare.

Creed growled as he lunged for the creature, his arms wide and ready to tackle. He waited to feel the force of his body slamming into the other's but it never came and he hit the ground hard, smashing into snow-covered patio furniture. Creed was on his feet in a second and he whirled, claws ready to strike. But there was nothing. The yard was empty.

The creature was gone. The tombstones were gone. Birdy's blood-soaked body was gone. Creed stood panting hard in the snow, his eyes wild and he looked around and waited. There was no sound. Nothing moved. It was just the white of the snow and the black of the forest.

Suddenly, Creed blinked. A lone snowflake drifted in front of his face. He blinked again and refocused his eyes and saw more snowflakes falling. They were silent as they fell, the only sound was Creed breathing, his breath coming in misty puffs of white. Behind him he heard a sound and turned fast, expecting the fight to continue.

The windows of the house glowed warm and bright and Creed could hear laughter and voices coming from inside. He laughed. "It's a trick. Yeah. Yeah! YOU HEAR ME! I KNOW IT'S A TRICK! IT'S A TRICK YOU LYIN' SACK'A SHIT!" Creed stomped back to the house, ready to tear it, and everyone inside it, apart. You couldn't kill what wasn't real, right?

As he got closer, he saw movement behind the glass of the doors, a familiar silhouette. The outside lights came on and the doors opened. "Victor?"

Creed stopped in his tracks. From the open doors he could smell cinnamon and pine, smoke from the fireplace, his kids. Birdy. He could smell Birdy. She called to him again and he could hear the hope in her voice. "Victor? Are you…when did you…are you back?"

"Birdy?" His voice was a whisper, unbelieving.

"Vic?" He couldn't admit just how much her voice comforted him. But he didn't want to believe this was real. Not after what he'd just seen. He turned and looked behind him. The snow was undisturbed, save for his own footprints, tracked up from the forest. No tombstones, no bodies.

He closed the distance between them and pulled Birdy into his arms. She wrapped her arms around his neck as she said, startled, "God, Vic, you're freezing! How long have you been out here?" She tried to pull back but he held her tight, so she rubbed her hands across his back, trying to warm him.

He buried his nose into her hair and inhaled. "Too long, darlin'." After a minute he loosened his hold and let her step back a little. They stepped inside and closed the doors, still holding on to one another.

Birdy smoothed his hair back from his face. He was wet and filthy. "You look like hell."

He gave a lopsided smile. "I think I just been through it." He sighed and hugged Birdy again. "That was the biggest mistake'a my life. Leavin' like I did. Promise me, Birdy. Promise me, you won't never let me do some stupid shit like that again."

She smiled and thumped him on the chest. "I'll bury you in youngins, how's that?"

"I think I can handle that. Speakin' of, where them kids at?"

Birdy nodded toward the front of the house. "In the living room, opening their Christmas Eve gifts."

"Christmas Eve?" Creed asked as they walked to where the sounds of laughter were coming from.

"Yeah, silly. What day'd you think it was?"

As they stood in the threshold of the living room, Creed watched as his children, scattered on the floor, tore into their gifts. Preoccupied as they all were, it was Elizabeth who saw him first. "Daddy!" She jumped from where she was, her present falling forgotten to the floor as she ran to him. He scooped her up and settled her on his hip, her arms winding around his neck. "Daddy! We missed you!"

In mock surprise he asked, "You did?"

"Mmhm." Lizzy hugged her father tight and then pulled back. "Ew, Daddy. You need a bath." Creed laughed.

"Yeah, old man. You smell like a homeless person," said a voice from behind. Victor turned to see his eldest, Emma, holding a tray of cookies and smiling up at her father.

Lizzy slid to the floor and back to her toy as Emma came up to put her arms around her father. "What're you doin' here?" he asked. "Thought you had a thesis to finish?"

Emma pulled back and shrugged. "Thesis, schmesis," she said with a wink, brushing by and setting the cookies on the coffee table and joining her siblings on the floor.

Creed just stood and watched, counting and recounting the faces in the room. He knew they were all there, he just needed to make sure. Birdy rubbed his back affectionately, "You good?"

He smiled. "Never better."

* * *

Outside the Creed Mansion, on the sidewalk in front of the house, the sound of footsteps retreated and a white trail of smoke wound upwards from a flattened cigarette butt.

* * *

_**A/N: Thanks for reading and reviewing! All 3 of you! Wooo! Four if I'm counting 1 Anon. This was actually really fun I just wish I could've stayed on track with the timing. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!**_


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